


waking up alive

by voksen



Series: WKverse [37]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Comment Fic, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-22
Updated: 2009-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompts got lost.  Nagi and Tot POVs of waking up after the last fight with Schreient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waking up alive

She wakes slowly, confused, sore, alone; water's dripping down on her from somewhere, and she doesn't understand. It shouldn't be raining in her room; Papa wouldn't let her roof get leaky.

But, of course, she remembers, Papa's dead. Reaching up, she wipes the wet from her face and opens her eyes just as lightning flashes, clear and brilliant. The rest of her memory rushes back to her just as suddenly, just as painful: Neu's dead, too, and Schoen, and Hell: everyone, they're all dead.

Stiff and awkward, like one of her dolls, Tot pulls herself to her feet, looks up at the storming sky, at the piles of wreckage that's all that's left of their second home. She wants to cry, but, somehow, she can't. Maybe she's dead, too.

Leaving Rabbit-chan behind (what use does a ghost have for toys?) she picks her way out of the ruins. She's not sure how a ghost can be cold, but she is, and wet, and for the first time in so many years she retreats back into herself, lets her body take over and just move, across chunks of concrete and splintered boards until she's standing at the edge of the muddy grass, staring uncomprehendingly at a helicopter parked there, black and unmarked, almost invisible in the rain.

The door opens and a man leans out, long red hair almost as sodden with rain as hers is. "Get in, stupid," he says, "or stay there. I don't give a shit."

Obediently - Tot's a good girl, she always obeys, she has to make Papa happy - she climbs in, blinks wide-eyed at the boy sprawled unconscious across the back seat, his blue uniform torn and muddy.

He doesn't look like he could be her papa, and she's not quite sure what to do. The helicopter roars to life, though, and she quickly sits down, shoving herself into the tiny bit of the seat left free.

Tentatively, uncertain, she brushes the boy's hair away from his face. He looks... nice, and something in the back of her mind tickles a little, as if there's something she's forgotten to do.

The red-haired man laughs suddenly, loud and raucous, and she shrinks back, snatching her hand away.

 _Wake up, kid,_ she hears, strangely clear despite the deafening noise of the blades as the helicopter lurches off the ground. _You've got your work cut out for you._

 

* * *

 

Nagi wakes to darkness, unsure for a brief moment if he's alive. Seconds later, he casts aside the idea of an afterlife as foolish and tries to sit up, only to find with some surprise that his muscles won't obey him in the slightest.

When he reaches for his power to prop himself up that way, he wishes instantly that he hadn't; the pain is as brilliant as the room is dark, red and white sunbursts in front of his eyes, stabbing through into his brain. It leaves him dazed, wondering, and trying to think of what the hell had happened.

The door creaks open and he looks up - he can move his eyes, at least - to Crawford, the light from the hall shining behind him and making his pale suit look white.

And suddenly it's all there and he's drowning in the memory of power, _real_ power, and blood, and death, and -

"Nagi," Crawford says.

The sound of his name shocks Nagi back to himself, sends anticipation through him that he desperately wants to deny: he knows Crawford used him. He remembers it all, the slap, the slaughter. He _knows._

But Crawford smiles - just slightly, but there's no mockery in it. "You did well," he says, and closes the door again, leaving Nagi alone in the dark with his thoughts and his memories and the undeniable, relentless warmth of praise.

He knows, but he doesn't _care_.


End file.
